


what baking can do

by shinelikestars



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Baking, F/F, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Oops, a bit of angst, again probably, am i giving too much away, are there too many tags, but i won't hurt you too bad bc this fic is for jem and i dont wanna hurt her, but that's ok because he's good at icing and being artistic so yay connor, connor... not so much, i may or may not have listened to the waitress soundtrack while writing this, jared enjoys baking and is proud of it, probably, that's right it's a bakery!au, you'll see - Freeform, zoe is really good at baking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-09 22:29:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11678379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinelikestars/pseuds/shinelikestars
Summary: heidi hansen has a pretty good bad idea when she decides to open up a tiny bakery just across the street from the giant bakery of the richest family in town, the murphys.evan thinks his mom is crazy. how can they possibly compete against the murphys?then he meets connor, the curly-haired, scowling cashier at the bakery across the street, and evan falls harder than he'd like to admit.until he finds out that connor is the son of the bakery's owners.he's got a crush on the competitor. shit.(aka the one where heidi opens a bakery and the murphys have got one, too, and it turns into quite the messy situation)





	what baking can do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nosecoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nosecoffee/gifts).



> title taken from "what baking can do" from the musical waitress! (i know, aren't i original)
> 
> this work was written as a birthday gift for my lovely friend nosecoffee. everyone should definitely wish her a happy birthday! she's a really awesome gal and an amazing writer, go check out her fics if you haven't already. (self-promo alert: she and i are also working with another incredible writer, HamiltonTrash, on a collaborative fic called "if only i could not see it", which is a DEH fic inspired by Stephen King's It. feel free to go check that out!)
> 
> and now, without further ado, let's get to baking!
> 
> tw: suicide attempt mention, panic attacks

Baking can fix anything, Evan’s mom has always said. Bad breakup? A tray of brownies will soothe your aching heart. Failed a test? Ice a cake and remember you can never really fail when it comes to desserts. Husband leaves you for an Embassy Suites cocktail waitress and moves 1,500 miles away to start a new family? Cry your eyes out into a blueberry pie.

 

Evan’s not really sure if that last one worked all that well for his mom, actually. His dad had left when he was seven, but some days he swears his mom still gets misty-eyed over it. Leaving them seemed easy as pie (excuse the pun) for his father, but Evan can tell that the divorce left a hole in his mother’s heart that even baking can’t fill, the scars all too visible upon closer inspection. She definitely can’t stand to hear the name Kristy anymore, and they make it a point not to stay in Embassy Suites hotels when they go on vacation (not like that’s a regular occurrence these days — they haven’t left Rochester since Evan’s seventh grade spring break). 

 

He thinks it’s kind of ironic that his mom works as an ER nurse, yet she still professes the wonders of baking. Isn’t too much dessert supposed to be really bad for, like, your arteries or something? 

 

But then again, he’s been taste-testing his mom’s desserts for ages, and he’s pretty healthy (physically, at least — mentally is a different story). Sure, maybe it’s made his face kind of soft around the edges, and he doesn’t have a six-pack like some of the other guys at school, but he’s alright. No clogged arteries yet. 

 

And having a mom who’ll bake you cinnamon rolls to go with your meds after a particularly bad panic attack definitely isn’t a negative. It’s just not always a positive.

 

Especially when she sits you down the spring before your senior year and tells you she’s opening a bakery. 

 

———

_“There was a round of layoffs at the hospital, honey_ ,” she’d said. _“And I have some money saved up, and I promise I will_ never _touch your college funds for the bakery, but — I think it’s a sign, sweetie. I have to at least try.”_

 

Evan doesn’t know what to think about it. He knows that his mom is going to have a hard time finding employees, because who wants to slave away over an oven all day in the middle of the summer? He knows that he’s going to have to interact with people, have to try to sell them pastries and cakes and freshly-baked bread, and just the idea of that makes his palms sweat uncontrollably and his chest so tight he can barely breathe. He knows that the bakery is small and cute and homey, he’s basically been living there over the past two months as his mom and the cheapest construction crew she could find work on overtime to try and get the place ready for their July opening. He knows they were supposed to open on July 1st, but that got pushed back to July 15th after they ran into some problems with installing the oven.

 

He knows that the late opening is the first sign of trouble in what he is sure will be a bumpy road full of those. Because, see, it’s not like his mom’s bakery is the first in town. No, someone else claimed that title four years ago.

 

Murphy Baking Company opened up on Main Street in the fall of 2013, just a couple weeks after the first day of school. His mom had taken him there to celebrate Evan starting seventh grade, and on the drive home she’d criticized their baking methods and said their cherry pie tasted artificial. Evan wouldn’t know what it tasted like; he hadn’t been able to get anything down, mouth dry and zero appetite because he had an English presentation the next day. 

 

Murphy Baking Co.’s success had skyrocketed over the next four years, and it’s featured on plenty of “The Best of Rochester” lists and won countless Readers’ Choice Awards from the local newspaper. They’d started off with only a thousand square feet of space or so, but they’ve expanded twice since their opening, the most recent renovations taking place a couple weeks after Evan’s mom had told him about _her_ bakery. Suffice it to say that their business is doing well, well enough that it’ll pose a major threat, and the family who owns it, the Murphys (big surprise there, right), are _loaded_. They were rich to begin with, a family of doctors and lawyers, but the bakery has only increased their wealth.

 

Evan can’t imagine how this is possibly going to end well.

 

——

Main Street Treats opens on a Friday. Evan’s nervous enough about it — he can’t decide what he dreads more, a flood of customers that’ll ask too many questions, or no customers at all, which would break his mother’s heart — when he walks in to find Jared Kleinman standing there, pink apron tied proudly around his waist, flour dusting his cheeks as he loads a tray of bread into the oven.

 

“J-Jared?” he manage to stammer out, slick fingers twisting at the hem of his polo shirt. He’d wanted to wear his favorite one, blue and striped, a security blanket of sorts for him — but his mom had asked him to wear a special pink one instead. She’d gotten it embroidered with “ _Main Street Treats_ ” in scrolling white font, just above Evan’s heart, which is beating _way_ too fast to be good for him right now.

 

Jared presses a button on the oven, then looks up at him, a smirk spreading across his features. “Oh, hey, Hansen. Wasn’t expecting to see you around here.”

 

“I-I could say the same,” Evan mumbles, reaching behind the counter for a pink apron of his own. It makes sense, if he’s honest with himself — Jared doesn’t do anything more than play video games and drive around town getting speeding tickets during the summer, aside from working as a counselor at a camp for Jewish kids, but Evan knows he hates that gig and would leap at the opportunity to get out of it. Which, he guesses, is exactly what Jared did by getting a job here.

 

They’re technically family friends, Jared marginally nice to Evan for the sake of his ever-increasing car insurance, and Evan is aware that his mom probably thought she was doing him a favor by hiring a “friend”. He can just picture it now — “ _Oh, Evan, aren’t you so excited that you get to work with your friend all summer? You and Jared are gonna have such a blast!_ ” 

 

His mom doesn’t know the truth, and Evan’s not going to be the one to tell her. Maybe Jared will get sick of him one day and decide he’s not worth the car insurance payments, but until then, Evan’s just going to have to put up with it. Secretly, he’s scared of what will happen if he stops being family friends with Jared anyway. He’s still home alone most Friday nights, but Jared will invite him over for the occasional weekend sleepovers/drinking-and-video-games sessions, and that’s enough to keep Evan going through the year. It makes him feel a little less alone. Without Jared, he’d be completely isolated. 

 

And isolation isn’t good. Evan knows that, knows that every moment he spends by himself makes the pull of that forty-foot oak tree in Ellison State Park stronger, all the more tempting. 

 

If he loses Jared, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to resist it anymore. 

 

So he ties on his apron and waits behind the counter. Lets Jared crack as many jokes as he wants, provide him with an endless slew of rude comments about his polo, mime crude shit with the pastry scraps when his mom’s not looking.

 

And he reminds himself that it’s only one summer, only one month and a couple weeks. 

 

He can do this. 

 

———

Evan’s mom is, without a doubt, one of the sweetest people in the world. She’s got an edge to her, sure, definitely has more snark in her than Evan, but she wouldn’t hurt a fly. She won’t even let him kill any spiders that invade their house — not like he would anymore, anyway, not after that ecology camp a couple summers ago where he learned how helpful spiders actually are — and has always made him trap them with a cup and release them outside.

 

So when, a week after the bakery’s mildly successful opening, his mother asks him to spy on the bakery across the street, Evan’s sure she can’t possibly be serious. He actually laughs, bending over to fix a cheese danish that’s gone crooked. “Good one, Mom.”

 

He turns around to find his mother still staring at him, a solemn expression on her face. “No, I’m serious, Evan. We’ve gotta evaluate the competition, honey. They know me, I’m the owner, but they’re not gonna know you. Just walk in, check out their goods, maybe buy something,” she says. When Evan doesn’t respond, she steps forward, sighs and cups his face with her hands. “I know it’s scary, sweetie,” she adds. “But please, do it for me?” 

 

Evan can’t say no to her.

 

He doesn’t get a chance to, anyway — a loud clatter rings from the back, and they both wince as Jared swears. “Better go take care of that. Thank you, honey,” his mom says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and hurrying off.

 

Evan slips into the break room and pops an extra Xanax. Waits until his heart stops racing. Listens to the faint noises of Jared apologizing profusely (he’s really good at sucking up to adults) as his mom fiddles with the oven. Changes out of his pink polo into the striped one he always keeps back here. Dusts the powdered sugar off of his khakis. 

 

Okay. He can do this. He can stroll in there and be one hundred percent unsuspicious. He won’t stick out like a sore thumb, no, he’ll fit right in. He’ll order hot chocolate if they have some and sit down and pretend like he’s just a normal guy, visiting a bakery for a hot drink in the middle of July. 

 

Normal. Right. He’s totally normal. Not a seventeen-year-old loser who can’t even order pizza because he’s too scared to talk to the delivery guy.

 

Normal. Evan can pull that off for, like, thirty minutes, right? 

 

———

Murphy Baking Co. is large and imposing, all glistening marble counters and gleaming gray wood, and Evan’s heart rate skyrockets as he walks through the door. A tiny excerpt of some sonata Evan’s never heard plays as the door closes behind him, and he starts at the unexpected sound.

 

“Jesus, chill. It’s just a door chime,” calls a voice from up front.

 

Evan looks up to find a teenage boy, probably around his age, standing behind the counter, staring at him — which, _shit_ , is exactly what he didn’t want to happen. He’s got dark brown curls that have been thrown up in a messy bun, a couple loose tendrils already falling out of it, and a thin, angular face dusted with freckles. His eyes, though, are what really gets to Evan — they’re a bright, vivid shade of blue, except for the one patch of brown in his right eye. 

 

He’s actually kind of beautiful. And there’s a look in his eyes that says he knows exactly what Evan’s up to.

 

That leads him to panic. _God_ , the Murphys are smart, they probably sent an employee over for reconnaissance work _weeks_ ago and saw Evan in there, they probably have their _pictures_ up in the back room, how could he be so _dumb_ , they’re going to throw him out and then report his mom to, like, the police or something for stalking and then her bakery will go out of business and they’ll go bankrupt and be homeless — 

 

“Are you going to just stand there all day, or are you actually going to order something?” the boy asks coolly. His name tag reads _CONNOR_ , and he’s leaning over the counter, doodling something that Evan can’t see on a sketchpad. 

 

“Um, I, uh — ” Evan can’t get the words out, and he struggles for a second, hastily surveying the case of goods and the drink menu to try and decide what he wants. “C-could I get a slice of p-pecan pie, and, um, a cup of hot chocolate, please?” 

 

Connor lets out a frustrated sigh at this, then turns and yells over his shoulder, “ _Zoe_! Stop flirting with Alana and fucking get up here!” Evan flinches at the abrasiveness of his words, but Connor doesn’t seem to notice or care, grabbing a white tablet and tapping something into the screen.

 

“That’ll be $10.72,” he says, and Evan can feel himself paling a bit because holy _shit_ that’s some expensive pie. He barely has enough to pay for it, but after some scrounging in his pockets for spare change, he manages to cough up the ten dollars and seventy-two cents. He hands the money to Connor, who appears incredibly bored with their interaction already. Then again, Evan would bet he probably looks pretty bored himself after a five-hour shift across the street, too.

 

Connor pours him the cup of hot chocolate, then says, “Hold on, I’ll be right back. I just have to go get my sister, she’s the only one around here who can actually cut a decent slice of pie.” And Evan briefly wonders why he cares so much, why it would matter to this boy who’s likely earning just above minimum wage if he cuts a perfectly proportional slice of pie — but then Connor reappears and Evan loses all ability to think clearly again.

 

He’s brought a girl with him, only slightly shorter than the ridiculously tall boy, but she’s much more welcoming, sporting a bright smile and indigo streaks in her light brown hair. The resemblance between the two is obvious— her eyes are the same shade of blue as Connor’s — but Evan can already tell that their personalities are like night and day. “Hi there,” the girl says, giving him a small wave. “I’m Zoe. I’m just gonna grab your slice of pie really fast, but I can bring it over to you. Sorry about the wait.”

 

Evan doesn’t object, holding his hot chocolate close and wandering over to the white-topped tables to find a seat. He’s got plenty of options — he’s the only customer in here right now — but he takes the one closest to the counter for reasons he can’t explain, then puts down his cup and pulls out his phone. No notifications, as he’d expected (because why _would_ anyone text him), so he scrolls through Instagram to look busy. He doesn’t want Connor and Zoe to think he’s any more pathetic than they probably already do. 

 

(Wait. Why does he even care what they think?)

 

(Oh, that’s right, because he cares about what _everyone_ thinks.) 

 

(He wishes he could stop caring.)

 

“Here you go.” Evan jumps in his seat as Zoe sets down the plate of pie in front of him, and she laughs softly. It’s a nice sound, kind of melodic, but — Evan can’t help but think about what her brother’s laugh might sound like. “Sorry,” she says, “didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“Oh, it’s — it’s okay.” 

 

“Let us know if you need anything else,” Zoe tells him, returning to back behind the counter. “And when you want a refill on that drink, just ask Connor, he’ll get it for you.” Connor doesn’t look up from his sketchpad, simply flips the bird at his sister, and Evan’s more amused than he’d care to admit by the interaction.

 

The hot chocolate is delicious.

 

And the pecan pie turns out to be pretty good.

 

———

He goes back to Murphy Baking Co.

 

He goes back a _lot_.

 

Connor is always there. Evan questions the legality of that (aren’t there child labor laws that are supposed to prevent that or something?), but he’s certainly not going to complain. He’s bizarrely fascinated by the other boy, and his heart does this happy little flutter whenever Evan walks through the door and spots that white sketchpad lying on the counter.

 

Evan doesn’t want to think about the reason behind that flutter.

 

His mother’s bakery has been open for three weeks, but the number of visits Evan’s made to the Murphy bakery in those weeks is more like five times that. He and Zoe are on a first-name basis now, and if she’s the one pouring his hot chocolate that day, she’ll always add a little peppermint to it, even though that’s technically not on the menu, because she knows he likes it. 

 

Connor knows his name, but Evan’s never heard him say it. 

 

(He wants to change that.)

 

He tells his mom he’s spying on them, that he’s become friends with some of the employees there and he’s gonna find out some of their secret recipes, what makes their cake so moist, all of that jazz. He tells her that he doesn’t have those secrets yet because he’s gotta ease his way into it, not make them suspicious.

 

(What he doesn’t tell her is that he’d never ask Connor, or Zoe, or _anyone_ there for anything like that. One time, he’d tried to ask Zoe where they bought their peppermint from, but his hands had gone all sweaty and he’d ended up leaving before she could answer. He’d showered too many times to count that night, trying to get rid of that dirty feeling lurking just beneath his skin.)

 

Jared teases him relentlessly about the visits. He even follows him across the street one day, one particularly slow Sunday when there’s not any customers and Heidi’s manning the register, and he’d tried to come in, but he’d still been wearing his apron, and Evan had panicked, shoved him past the entrance, where he knew Connor and Zoe couldn’t see him.

 

Jared thinks he’s spying on them, too, and that just proves how little Jared knows about him. 

 

It’s a breezy Saturday afternoon when Evan comes in to Murphy Baking Co. for the sixteenth time. The scent of freshly-baked bread fills the air, and when Evan looks over to the counter, he’s surprised to not find a sketchpad there. A girl named Alana, the object of Zoe’s affections (or so Connor claims) whose determined enthusiasm is borderline infectious, is the only one behind the counter. She’s focused on a display of perfectly rectangular lemon bars, carefully arranging them on their glass platter. There’s powdered sugar on her fingers; it stands out in vivid contrast to the dark of her skin.

 

“Hi, Evan!” Alana chirps as he approaches the counter. “What can I get you today?”

 

“Um, a hot chocolate and a croissant, please.” He waits until she’s rung up his order to ask her the question that’s burning on the tip of his tongue.

 

“DoyouknowwhereConnoristoday?” The words all come out at once, in a rush, and Alana just cocks her head at him as he hands her the money.

 

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” she says, printing out a receipt even though he didn’t ask for one.

 

“Um, yeah, s-sorry — just, do you, um, do you know where Connor is today?” He tries to say it as slowly as he can, but even that’s probably a bit speedy. He’s always been a fast talker, according to his mother, always eager to get conversations over with as quickly as possible.

 

Alana gives him his receipt and heads over to the case, bending down to grab his croissant. “He’s in the hospital,” she replies, grabbing a plate for the pastry. “I didn’t know you guys were friends, though, that’s nice! Connor doesn’t really have any friends except for me and—”

 

“Is he going to be okay?” Evan can’t stop himself from interjecting, the pressure building in his chest.

 

He doesn’t miss the way she bites her lip and won’t meet his eyes as she passes him the croissant over the counter. “Physically, yes,” she admits, “but mentally… I don’t know, honestly.” Alana pauses, glances around to double-check there’s not any other customers in the bakery, then leans forward, worry lines appearing on her forehead. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. You’re a customer. This is unprofessional.” 

 

“I—I don’t think it’s unprofessional,” Evan argues. “You’re just being nice. And it’s not like I’m some — s-some stranger who doesn’t care. I—I care.” 

 

(He cares more than he should, actually.)

 

Alana’s silent for a moment, eyes darting around the store again like she’s convinced there’s some phantom customer hiding in the back, just waiting to burst out and present them with a recording of their conversation to get her fired with. Evan’s hands are slippery around the plate, and he’s scared that he’ll drop it and break it any minute now. The plates here probably cost, like, $20 — $20 Evan doesn’t have, so he’d love to try and explain that one to his mom.

 

“I’m going to visit him at the end of my shift,” she finally speaks up. “I can give you a ride if you want. His sister would probably be happy to see you, she thinks you’re adorable.” 

 

Evan drops the plate.

 

Alana’s nice enough to not make him pay for it.

 

———

The scent of antiseptic in the air makes him want to hurl.

 

Alana technically got off at three, but her replacement, a loud-mouthed girl named Dayna, had shown up thirty minutes late, and so she’d worried the entire drive over to University Hospital that they’d miss visiting hours.

 

They have twenty minutes left of visiting hours when they get there, but Connor’s nurse is so excited to see them ( _“He hasn’t had any visitors other than his parents and sister, unfortunately”_ ) that, with a conspiratorial wink, she agrees to let them stay an extra ten minutes after hours are up. 

 

Evan’s mom used to work at this hospital. He thinks about he’d be even worse off than Connor, how she’d be his only visitor if anything happened to him, because his dad lives all the way in Colorado and doesn’t really care, anyway, and Jared has always said hospitals depress him, and all his grandparents are dead and he doesn’t have any other friends, so. That’d be it.

 

He shivers. He doesn’t want to think about that anymore.

 

Alana leads him into Connor’s hospital room, claiming that Zoe is waiting inside for them, and Evan’s hands begin to shake. He keeps them hidden behind his back and hopes that nobody will say anything.

 

(Alana’s pretty perceptive, though, so she’ll probably ask him about it in the car.)

 

The room is heartbreakingly bare, no flowers or Get Well cards or anything of the sort, just a nightstand table and a bed and Connor. Connor, who had been so tall and lanky at the bakery, who now seems so small and fragile. 

 

He’s sitting up, scowling and retorting to something Zoe’s said, when he sees Evan and Alana.

 

Connor turns white. “What the fuck is he doing here?” he demands. Evan pretends that doesn’t kind of make him want to cry (even though it shouldn’t, it’s a perfectly reasonable question). 

 

Alana’s face falls, and Zoe gives him a thin smile, squeezing the other girl’s hand comfortingly. “Don’t be an ass, Connor,” she hisses at her brother. 

 

Connor’s eyes are very blue and also very, very cold. He looks so _tired_ , too, like he’s been worn down to the bone. “Sorry,” he snaps back, “I forgot I’m supposed to just sit here and take it while you tell the entire fucking town about how your psycho older brother tried to slit his wrists, right? _Right_?”

 

There’s a hard edge to Connor’s voice, and Evan can’t bear the sight of the bandages on his arms. Can’t bear the parallels his mind tries to make between the two of them. Can’t bear the way Connor glares at him like he’s the last person in the world he wants to see right now, or the way Alana looks at both of them with pity in her eyes. Can’t bear the pure hurt that flashes across Zoe’s face.

 

Can’t bear the way that whisper in his head goes, _If you’d never come at all, none of this would have happened._

 

So he leaves. 

 

———

He is having a panic attack in the hospital bathroom when he texts Jared and asks him for a ride home.

 

He is having such a bad panic attack that Jared has to come in and collect him.

 

He is having an awful, terrible panic attack of epic proportions, and he drips snot all over Jared’s cargo shorts and fists his hands so tightly in his T-shirt, trying to get his breath back, that he very nearly tears it, and Jared. Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t appear to judge him, doesn’t joke about how red his eyes are or the ungodly amounts of fluids on his face, just helps him to the car and drives him home. Silent.  But the good kind of silent, the _“let’s just sit here in the quiet and we’ll talk if you want to”_ kind of silent, not the _“you’re a weirdo and I don’t know what to say and this is awkward what the fuck is wrong with you”_ kind of silent (that one, Evan’s more accustomed to).

 

When they pull into Evan’s driveway, Jared doesn’t get out to walk him up immediately. Instead, they sit there, the car idling, keys still in the ignition. 

 

“Is it okay for me to ask what happened, or would that just bring the bad shit back again?” Jared says, hesitation evident in his voice.

 

Evan takes a deep breath. (And boy, is he happy he can do that again.) 

 

“Um, I-I don’t really want to talk about it? If that’s okay?” He sounds so uncertain, and normally this would be the perfect timing for Jared to probe and urge and eventually get it out of him, but — he doesn’t. Jared just nods and turns the engine off.

 

“Yeah,” he says. “Of course, Evan. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

 

And Evan still dreams of bandages and oak trees and the smell of antiseptic that night, but — 

 

He thinks it would’ve been a lot worse, if not for Jared.

 

And maybe, he thinks, Jared knows more about him than he’d thought.

 

Maybe Jared understands. 

 

———

Sunday is a day off for him and his mom, but Evan goes into Murphy Baking Co. first thing Monday morning to apologize to Alana, who he knows has yet another 9-3 shift that day.

 

But when he gets there, Alana isn’t the only one standing behind the counter. 

 

A woman with shoulder-length, reddish hair and bright blue eyes is positioned at the cash register, but her back is turned to the entrance. She’s focused on something that a man with salt-and-pepper hair is saying to Alana; the conversation seems to be intense, the man gesturing animatedly, but their voices are low enough that Evan can’t make out what they’re saying.

 

(Not like it’s his business, anyway.)

 

“Hi! Welcome to Murphy Baking Company,” the woman says cheerfully. Her name tag reads _CYNTHIA_. “What can we bake for you today?” Her smile is wide and her voice perky, but the expression seems strained, the enthusiasm in her voice hollow. Evan’s never seen her before, but she already doesn’t look all that happy to be here. If this is her first day on the job and she’s this miserable already, she probably won’t last all that long in food service, he thinks.

 

Alana and the man are still deep in conversation, having moved closer to the back, so Evan orders his usual drink and waits for Cynthia to hand him his lemon bar (after seeing them on Saturday, he’s decided to finally try one, though there’s no telling how lemons and hot chocolate go together). 

 

Alana comes back to the counter just as Cynthia presents him with the lemon bar.

 

“Evan,” she breathes, eyes wide. 

 

Cynthia’s jaw drops. “Evan? Alana, is this the Evan Zoe was talking about?” she asks, turning to Alana. Alana nods.

 

Evan is extremely confused.

 

“Oh, Evan,” Cynthia says, voice full of a more authentic brand of warmness now. She unties her apron and rushes out from behind the counter, surprising him with a hug that nearly knocks Evan off his feet. 

 

“I’m, I’m sorry, ma’am, I just don’t — I don’t really understand why you’re hugging me?” he gathers up the courage to mutter into her shoulder. She smells like fancy perfume, not like flour, which is surprising, considering she works at a bakery and all.

 

Cynthia pulls back, her eyes shining with an emotion Evan can’t put a name to, and drops her arms. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “That was a little overbearing of me, wasn’t it?” She laughs, but it’s a self-deprecating kind of thing, not something Alana or Evan feel comfortable laughing along with her at. 

 

Cynthia pauses, gives Evan a quick once-over. He hopes there’s not any sugar on his khakis. 

 

“It’s just, you’re friends with Connor,” she explains. “And my daughter tells me you came to visit him, and I —” Cynthia falters, a shadow crossing her features. “I’d like to apologize for his behavior on Saturday,” she adds. “That wasn’t right of him, he just — sometimes I think he doesn’t really know how to handle gestures of kindness from other people. That doesn’t excuse his actions, of course, but I thought maybe if you understood, you’d be more willing to give him a second chance.”

 

Evan doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t have the words. _Are_ there even words, for a situation like this? It’s not like there’s a fucking guidebook.

 

So he just flounders, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, until Cynthia has mercy on him and says, “Well, I’d better get back to work before my husband catches me goofing off. But you should come over for dinner soon, Evan. Connor gets discharged tonight, so maybe Wednesday?” She considers briefly, then continues, “Swing by tomorrow; Zoe will be in, and I’ll leave her with the details. Hope to see you soon, sweetie.”

 

Then she’s disappeared into the back, and it’s just Evan and Alana standing there, and they’re both looking at each other like _what just happened_.

 

Evan really doesn’t know.

 

After a moment, it occurs to him to ask Alana, “Um, s-so does Connor’s entire family work here? I-I mean, that was obviously his mom, and Zoe works here, and his mom mentioned her husband, so—”

 

Alana stifles a laugh. “That’s _Mrs. Murphy_ , Evan,” she informs him. “She and her husband own the bakery. Connor and Zoe are their kids.”

 

And so that’s how Evan ends up spilling his hot chocolate all over himself. 

 

———

When he shows back up at Main Street Treats wearing a Murphy Baking Company T-shirt, his mom isn’t there, by some grace of God, having run off to the bank to make a deposit, and Jared’s the first person he tugs into the back room to panic with.

 

He has to tell someone. It’s eating him up inside.

 

So he tells him. And Jared, all too predictably, doubles over with laughter.

 

“Sorry,” he gasps out, still bent over, trying to catch his breath, “this is just too fucking _hilarious_ , Hansen. I mean, seriously, what kind of Romeo and Juliet shit is that? I always knew you had a flair for the dramatic, dude, but really? In love with your family’s sworn rival?”

 

“I’m not in love with him,” Evan mutters, face heating, “it’s — it’s just a crush. And he probably hates me now, anyway.”

 

“Which is why his mom invited you over for dinner, right?” Jared rolls his eyes. “Evan, you think way too little of yourself. The dude was in the hospital, of course he was gonna be pissy with whoever walked through the door.”

 

“I don’t know what to do,” Evan whispers, fingers twisting at the hem of his T-shirt. He can still smell cocoa in the air.

 

“I say you go to the dinner on Wednesday, and you smile and white-knuckle your way through if you have to, and maybe it won’t be a total fucking horror show,” Jared suggests, flashing him an easy grin. “And of course you’ll have to send me live updates every, like, ten minutes.”

 

“See, that sounds exactly like what I _don’t_ want to do—”

 

“I’ll make you a chocolate soufflé.”

 

“Jared, there’s no way you’re gonna do that, Mom hasn’t even mastered it—”

 

“When your mom gets back, ask her yourself. Apparently I’m a fast learner.”

———

He tells his mom he’s hanging out with Jared on Wednesday night.

 

Zoe’s on lunch break when he comes in on Tuesday, but she leaves the slip of paper with a time and their address for him by the cash register. Alana gives it to him.

 

When 6:00 PM finally rolls around, Evan gets Jared to drop him off. He finally ends up at the Murphys’ front door after a million promises to update his friend on the outcome when all is said and done, and of course, because Evan’s never had great luck to begin with, Connor opens the door.

 

Connor doesn’t look too good, if Evan’s being honest. His hair hangs loose and limp around his shoulders, the first time Evan’s seen it out of a bun, and he’s dressed in a baggy black hoodie and ripped black jeans that are just a little too short for him (the first time Evan’s seen him without an apron tied around his waist). He’s pale and drawn and overall appears miserable, but he’s not as angry to see him as Evan had anticipated.

 

He just sighs, a short, exasperated huff, and says, “Well, let’s get this over with.”

 

The Murphys are nice enough. Larry, the salt-and-pepper-haired man Evan had seen Monday, is calm and collected but not very kind to Connor, but he calls Evan “son” and brushes him up on the history of baseball in fifteen minutes, so. He’s not too bad. Cynthia tries very hard, makes them a gluten-free lasagna that is surprisingly awful for someone who owns a bakery (she should just stick to pastries, Evan thinks as he forces it down), and Zoe seems vaguely pissed off with her parents, though she shoots Evan plenty of warm smiles and cracks a couple of jokes at her dad’s expense. 

 

Connor just doesn’t seem… there. He stares at the wall, eyes hazy and unfocused, makes the occasional sarcastic remark under his breath but, for the most part, stays silent. Doesn’t even touch his lasagna (though Evan can understand that). 

 

(He does, however, laugh when Larry asks Evan what his mom does for a living, and Evan, in his scramble to say, “She’s, um, self-employed,” chokes on his lasagna.) 

 

(If Connor really knew why Evan had been in such a hurry to respond, Evan doesn’t think he’d have laughed.)

 

Cynthia basically shoves them upstairs, tells Connor to “be nice” while she gets dessert ready. Larry retreats to the living room, but Zoe follows them onto the second floor, gives Connor a kind of warning glance before she heads into her own room.

 

Then they’re in Connor’s room, which is. Um. Kind of a mess? There’s art supplies scattered everywhere, pens and paintbrushes and crumpled pieces of paper littering the floor, and they’re really the only hint of color in the room, the rest of it pretty bare aside from the worn blue comforter on the bed. Connor throws himself into a desk chair, and Evan perches on the edge of his bed because, well, there’s not really anywhere else to go.

 

Connor stares at him. 

 

For once in his life, Evan’s the one to break the silence.

 

“Um, this is… kind of weird,” he says. 

 

Connor snorts. “Aren’t you observant,” he remarks dryly. 

 

(Evan’s brain can’t seem to focus on anything but Connor’s hoodie, the long sleeves pulled down almost to his hands. He wonders if the bandages are still there. He doesn’t want to think about what’s underneath them.)

 

“Uh, I’m sorry if I, um, made you mad, on Saturday,” Evan attempts to apologize. He’s never really been good at apologies, frankly. “I— I wasn’t trying to be creepy, or anything, I just came into the bakery and I saw that you weren’t there and Alana told me you were—”

 

“Jesus, okay, you can stop there,” Connor interrupts, throwing up his hands. “I don’t need all the gory details.” 

 

Evan flushes. He tends to ramble, and ninety-five percent of the population tends to get annoyed by that. 

 

Something in his face must give off _pity-me_ vibes, because Connor visibly softens after a couple of seconds, and he says, “Sorry. That was probably kind of harsh. I’m, uh, trying to work on that.” There’s a beat of silence, and then Connor adds, “Also, sorry for being a dick on Saturday. I just — I didn’t really want anyone seeing me like that.”

 

(Evan doesn’t mention that Connor hadn’t gotten nearly as pissed at Alana.)

 

(He also doesn’t mention the “ _Especially you_ ” that Connor mumbles under his breath.)

 

———

Evan starts spending so much time at the Murphys’ bakery that his mom teases him about “working for the enemy now”, and Jared winks at him every time he walks out the door.

 

He feels guilty, he does, but he’d also feel guilty if he just. Up and left. Exited the Murphys’ lives, which he’s already wormed his way into so expertly, without another word.

 

And, as the weeks pass by, there’s so much he learns.

 

He learns that Zoe likes her coffee black, and she re-does the indigo streaks in her hair every summer because Connor had complimented her on them once upon a time (though she’ll never admit that to her brother’s face), and she’s been trying to find the courage to ask Alana out for months, even though it’s so obvious that the other girl likes her back just as much. He learns that she plays the guitar in the jazz band at her school, that she’s a rising junior, and that she and Connor used to be best friends. He learns that Zoe is a pretty fantastic baker, that she’s responsible for the majority of the goods in the case. He learns that she draws Sharpie stars on the cuffs of her jeans and on the whites of her Converse. He learns that one time, when they were kids, Connor snuck the two of them into the backyard at midnight and tried to teach her all the constellations. He learns that, another time, high and paranoid as hell, Connor tried to kick her door down and said he’d kill her (the way that Zoe can say this so casually will never not baffle him). 

 

He learns that Alana’s favorite person in the world is her grandmother, and that Zoe bakes special apple pies once a month for Alana to take over to the nursing home. He learns that Alana is aiming for valedictorian, and that she wants to study foreign affairs at Georgetown. He learns that Alana’s favorite color is purple, and that she’d taught Larry how to fix the oven when it broke last summer. He learns that Alana’s been working here over a year now, and that the bakery is like a second home to her. 

 

He learns that Connor can’t bake for shit, but he’s crazy good at cake design, frosting them like nobody else can. He learns that Connor was forced to work here this summer after his parents caught him buying Xanax off one of their family friends, Brian something-or-other. He learns that Connor’s grades are crap, but with a slightly higher SAT score and a dash of luck, he might just get into art school. He learns that Connor’s parents think he’s always just doodling on his ever-present sketchpad, but really, he’s sketching, pictures of cakes and the bakery and little portraits of any particularly intriguing customers. 

 

He learns that, tucked deep inside his sketchpad, Connor’s got a sketch of him.

 

He learns that that Thursday in August was Connor’s third suicide attempt in as many years. 

 

He learns that he wants to keep learning more.

 

———

It is Labor Day, and they start school tomorrow, but the Murphys’ bakery is still open.

 

So is his mom’s. 

 

Evan still makes it across the street, and the second he gets through the doorway, Zoe pops out from behind the counter, a huge grin on her face. “Evan! I’m almost at the end of my shift, I was kinda worried you weren’t gonna make it in today,” she says. “Come to the back with me — there’s something I wanna show you.”

 

Evan tries not to think about the possible health code repercussions of this and follows Zoe into the back.

 

Connor is there, doing the final touches on a cake with icing that looks like a sunset, and Evan kind of gasps because _holy shit it’s so beautiful_. Jared would call that a “Pinterest-worthy” kind of cake.

 

“He made it for you,” Zoe stage-whispers, giggling when Connor glares at her. “You guys are such dorks.”

 

Then she’s gone, back up front, and it’s just Evan and Connor and the cake.

 

Evan’s kind of sweating.

 

“You made that for me?” he says, stupidly, palms slick against his khakis. 

 

Connor’s still focused on the frosting, so Evan can’t see his face, but he _can_ see that the tops of his ears have gone pink. “I mean, kind of?” Connor mutters, squeezing some icing out of the tip of the bag. “It’s, like, a month-late apology cake. And you said something about sunsets the other day, so I figured—”

 

Evan has his arms around him before he can even really process what he’s doing.

 

When Connor hugs back, Evan thinks he’s never been more grateful for cake.

 

———

School starts, and it’s as awful as Evan predicted, the constant crowds and talk of college nerve-wracking, but there’s still the bakery on afternoons and weekends and Jared covers for him a lot, so. It’s bearable.

 

Connor keeps icing cakes for him. He can’t give them all to Evan — they have to be put on display, for actual paying _customers_ to buy — but when Evan walks in and spots a cake the color of the sky, he smiles and knows Connor made it thinking of him.

 

It’s getting harder, though, to keep up the lie with his mom. He catches her frowning one Friday evening when he heads across the street, and if it weren’t for Connor, Zoe, and Alana, Evan would walk right back.

 

It’s getting even harder to keep up the _truth_ with Jared. He confronts Evan one day at lunch about his constant absence. “You’re, like, never at the bakery anymore, man,” Jared says through a mouthful of chips. “Kinda bums your mom out.”

 

(Evan knows that’s code for, _“You’re making me jealous.”_ Jared’s not used to not having him to depend on.)

 

(Evan thinks he might be sick of being dependable.) 

 

———

It is a cool October morning when Evan breaks his arm.

 

He’s helping Connor and Zoe in the back, an unexpected rush of customers demanding hot cider and pumpkin doughnuts keeping Alana busy up front, when he slips on a wet section of floor and hears that sickening _crack_ , feels the left side of his body go numb.

 

Zoe drives them to the hospital, Connor in the backseat trying to keep Evan calm.

 

Connor has gotten pretty good at doing that, so Evan’s not freaking out too badly when they get to the ER.

 

Thankfully, they allow Connor to go back with him, and one excruciating hour later, Evan’s just about ready to go.

 

Then his nurse walks in with the discharge instructions, and Evan’s heart sinks, because he knows this nurse. She’s got curly brown hair, not too unlike Connor’s, and she wears fifty pounds of eyeliner because she’s convinced it keeps her looking young (she’s only forty-five). Her name is Carrie.

 

She worked with his mom, back before she got laid off.

 

“Oh, Evan! Hi, sweetie, sorry about your arm,” she says, giving him a careful hug. “It’s been _forever_ , hon, how are you? How’s your mom? I’ve been thinking about her ever since she left, she just opened that new bakery on Main Street, right? What’s it called — Main Street Sweets? I’ve been meaning to go check it out.”

 

Connor has gone still next to him. 

 

“Um, c-could you give us one second?” Evan stammers. 

 

Carrie looks confused, but she leaves quickly, shutting the door behind her with a promise to be back in five minutes.

 

“Your mom owns the bakery across the street,” Connor says, quietly and simply. Like it’s a fact he’s already accepted. Doesn’t even question it.

 

“Um, well, yes, but I can — I can explain — ” Evan’s stumbling over his words, trying to get them out quickly enough to make Connor _understand_ , but Connor doesn’t listen.

 

“Has this all just been one big lie? Or a joke? Was any of this even _real_ to you?” Connor asks, voice trembling. Evan can’t look him in the eye, can’t bring himself to face the anger that he knows will be there. “Were you _spying_ on us, or some weird shit like that? Did you just, run back to Mommy after every visit to tell her everything we did? Laugh with her about the Murphys’ freaky suicidal kid?” His tone has turned ugly and mean, and Evan cringes. 

 

“ _No_ , Connor, all of it was real, I — I wasn’t _spying_ on you, you have to let me explain — ”

 

That was the wrong thing to say. Evan knows it the second the words cross his lips, and he finally meets Connor’s gaze. 

 

His eyes have gone dark. Stormy. Like a hurricane.

 

“I don’t _have_ to do a fucking thing, _Hansen_ ,” Connor spits, heading for the door. 

 

“Connor, I’m — I’m sorry, _please_ —”

 

“No, _fuck_ you.”

 

When Carrie comes back, Evan is alone and struggling to breathe.

 

His mom has to pick him up, and Evan is too woozy from the sedative to apologize. 

 

———

The Murphys send his mother a long, scathing email a few days later. 

 

Connor had apparently blown up upon his and Zoe’s return to the bakery, damaged some important piece of equipment, and the Murphys had “written to inform” his mother of the “concerning behavior” Evan had displayed over the past few months by “effectively spying on the employees of Murphy Baking Company”. 

 

They’d told her that if Evan ever came to the bakery again, they’d go to the police and have her charged with stalking and harassment. 

 

It’s basically a glorified cease and desist letter, and when Jared goes to comfort his mom, he swears to her that the Legal Advice guys on Reddit have promised him the email doesn’t mean shit for them legally, but. His mom’s still upset.

 

“ _I can’t believe you were lying to me_ ,” she cries to him.

 

Evan can’t believe it, either.

 

Jared’s pissed at him, too. _“You left me for those Murphy assholes, and now your mom is stressing the fuck out, what the hell, man?”_

 

He’s even angrier with himself than they are.

 

———

He and Jared get into an argument. A blow-up kind of argument, a _“this friendship might be over”_ kind of argument.

 

Evan doesn’t even remember why it started, but by the end, he’s left crying in his bedroom, and Jared’s speeding down the street.

 

He spirals. Because he’s good at that. 

 

He helps out at the bakery when his mom absolutely needs him to, but she’s got enough employees now that that’s more of a rarity, and so he spends most nights home alone (the bakery doesn’t close until 10, and Heidi Hansen is a hands-on kind of owner). Doesn’t eat a lot, because he’s still too scared to order takeout. Won’t touch the pastries his mother leaves in the fridge, because they all just taste like dust in his mouth now. Can’t go near the Swiss Miss packets in the cabinet, because it won’t ever taste anything like the peppermint hot chocolate Zoe used to make for him.

 

Evan hates it, hates _himself_ for doing this, to Zoe and Connor and his mom and Jared, to everybody. 

 

He should’ve never crossed the street. 

 

———

Apparently, going a full day and a half without eating isn’t great for the body, and one night in December, Evan passes out just minutes before his mom gets home from the bakery.

 

She screams when she finds him slumped on the living room sofa, and that’s what wakes him up.

 

She force-feeds him chicken soup and a couple of cannolis, then sits him down at the kitchen table for an achingly honest conversation that leaves them both sobbing.

 

He hadn’t meant to tell her about the lure of the oak tree, hadn’t meant to tell her he was suicidal, but. Well. It had just come out, and then — he couldn’t take it back.

 

It is two weeks before Christmas when his mother decides to close the bakery. 

 

———

There are still remnants of snow on the roof, and Evan stares at them as they stand in front of what was once Main Street Treats. 

 

It is mid-January, and they took the sign down a week ago, but he keeps expecting the lights to flicker on at any minute, keeps expecting the scent of bread to fill his nose and a line of customers to stream out the door.

 

“Are you sure, Mom?” he asks, shivering slightly in the chilly winter air and turning to his mother. 

 

Heidi smiles at him, and Evan expects to find regret, or maybe disappointment, there, but all he sees is bittersweet nostalgia. “I had fun, Ev,” she says gently, “and I got to live out my dream for a little bit, but _you_ are what’s most important to me. You are everything I ever wanted, honey, and you deserve to have a mom who can focus on you 24/7.” 

 

“Besides,” she adds, stepping forward to lock the front door for the last time, “there was no way in hell we were gonna outdo the Murphys, anyway.”

 

As if on some kind of sick cue, Connor Murphy walks up, hands in the pockets of his black parka.

 

His mother doesn’t look as shocked as she should be.

 

“I’ll give you two a second,” she says, and walks across the street.

 

(Why is she going into the Murphys’ bakery?)

 

———

Their conversation is stilted and more than a little awkward, but.

 

By the end, Evan’s managed a decent apology, Connor’s managed to forgive him, and they’ve both managed to agree to not base their friendship around bakeries anymore.

 

So all in all, not bad.

 

———

In spite of their conversation in January, they end up celebrating Evan’s eighteenth birthday in May at Murphy Baking Co. 

 

Evan helps them close up early for the night, and Zoe and Connor surprise him with a cake (baked, of course, by Zoe, but iced by her brother). His favorite kinds of trees dot the bright blue frosting, and when Evan can’t get rid of the sky-colored dot at the corner of his mouth, Connor kisses it away for him.

 

(And oh, yeah, that’s a thing. They’ve been dating since April.)

 

(Zoe complains about their non-stop PDA, but Evan knows for a fact that she and Alana are the most disgustingly in-love couple ever, so. Who is she to talk.)

 

His phone buzzes with a “ _love you!! have fun_ ” text from his mom, who is having dinner with Connor and Zoe’s parents tonight while their kids celebrate his birthday. (Also a thing: the Murphys hiring his mom as a consultant for their bakery. Apparently, they hadn’t been doing so well, those renovations last spring more expensive than they thought, and needed Heidi’s “fresh take” on baking to help. Evan’s just happy to have his mom around more often.)

 

And he sits at those white-topped tables and dines on cake and hot chocolate with his best friends, laughs at Jared’s stupid jokes, lets Alana talk his ear off about their upcoming graduations, and listens to Zoe and Connor’s endless banter. 

 

And he thanks his lucky stars, and promises to never make fun of his mom’s passion for desserts again.

 

Because, wow. Who knew what baking could do?

 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, comments are appreciated and adored, and thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY NOSECOFFEE! <3 much love to you, darlin


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